Tales from the Haunted Apiary
by Nogard
Summary: A series of short stories set in the ilovebees universe. Latest: Thin Kinkle reflects on his latest conquest.
1. Bonita, Stormy Weather

"_Don't know why… there's no sun up in the sky…"_

She pauses, her fork hovering between the plate and her mouth. It's just a song playing over the ambient speakers, but it summons an old memory half-forgotten. One of happier times.

She remembers the way he'd hold her hand. He'd gaze into her eyes and whisper that everything would be all right. If she concentrates, she can almost hear his voice still.

He pressed his lips against hers, burying her sorrow and fear. He promised their happiness would last a lifetime… And all her days were bright…

"_Stormy weather… since my man and I ain't together…"_

Blinking back a tear, she realizes her date has been talking to her. Looking at her with concern, the man asks if she is all right. She shakes her head to remove the ghosts of a time that once was, smiles, and reassures him that everything is fine.

In truth, it has never been fine. Not since that fateful day so many days ago… when her love left to draw the devils away from home. And every day bought by his work has been cloudy and dark.

"_Keeps raining all the time…"_

She longs to walk in the sun once more, to feel its rays soak into her skin. She longs to bask in the healing warmth, and say goodbye forever to pain. What she would do to spend one precious hour with her husband and son, to be a family once more…

But there is no sun. Though she knows it must be somewhere overhead, it remains masked by a layer of clouds. And all her days are cold and grey.

"_Life is bare… gloom and misery everywhere…"_

She smiles as her date shares his opinions on the falling stock market. She laughs at his poor impersonation of a ministry official. She tries in vain to capture the same magic she once felt.

But even as she knows this man should be great for her, she cannot help but feel empty. The sun is gone. No moon, however bright, can turn this night to day.

"_Stormy weather… just can't get my poor old self together…"_

She eats her expensive tuna salad. The man who left her would never spend money so idly. She should be grateful for finding this man.

After all, her son can't take care of her for the rest of her life. For all she loves him, she knows he can barely take care of himself. For the first time since her husband left, she feels financially secure. And yet…

"_I'm weary all the time… the time… so weary all of the time…"_

She excuses herself, visiting the public restroom. As she hurries away, she jokes over her shoulder that she drank a gallon of lemonade. In truth, she simply wants to leave the range of the ambient speakers.

It's only music, she tells herself as she stares into the mirror. It was written six hundred years ago, for God's sake. Pull yourself together!

But even as she rages at her reflection, cursing the song that brings her pain to the forefront, she is grateful for the memory. Even with the sorrow that comes from living in the shadow of true happiness, she is happy for that one glimpse of what was.

Wiping her eyes clean of moisture, she heads quickly back to her date. She knows there is no sense in worrying about what could be. She must focus on what is.

Although her husband remains lost among the stars, she has the best alternative available. She can only hope that one day he will make the clouds vanish… or that she will be reunited with her lost castaway… Until then, she will walk her days bravely through the falling rain.

"_When he went away… the blues walked in and met me…  
_

"_If he stays away… old rocking chair will get me…_

"All I do is pray… the lord above will let me…

"Walk in the sun once more…"


	2. Yasmine, Message in a Bottle

Yasmine-151 froze.

She waited.

Silence.

Slowly, she relaxed. She could have sworn she heard something moving in the bushes… _Animals make noise too,_ she supposed.

Still, missions like this required the utmost security. Setting her pack against a tree, she crept lightly across the forest floor. She searched the surrounding area for signs of a tail, but found nothing. That meant nothing. She knew that if a trained ninja didn't want to be seen, it wouldn't.

_I should go back,_ she thought. If she hurried, she could make it back to the barracks before any alarm was raised.

_I can't, _she told herself. _I have to leave breadcrumbs, something they could find._

So she continued through the dark woods, through seven kilometers of Reach wilderness, until streaks of blue began to light the sky. _Far enough?_ It would have to do.

She found a good, strong tree, likely to last a few decades. Taking out a knife and spoon, stolen from the cafeteria, she carved into the trunk: _DIG_, followed by an arrow pointed down at the ground.

Willing herself to hurry, for there was little time, she dug a hole large enough to conceal a tin can originally used to hold beans. She hoped that its absence would go unnoticed. She carefully unrolled her letter, scribbled on a napkin with barbeque sauce for ink, and read it one last time.

_This is a plea for help. I am an innocent captive of an evil military program, designed by our highest authorities to create an elite unit of naval soldiers, codenamed SPARTANS, to eradicate the Insurrectionist threat. However, I did not elect to come here. I am not a military soldier that can be ordered into such a program. I am a free citizen of planet Coral, and I know my rights. Please, if anyone ever reads this, stop them!_

_An unwilling slave_

Underneath it was a similar message in Hebrew, and on the back were two in Chinese and Spanish. They were perhaps crude, a bit rushed, but they would have to do. Kissing the note lightly, she slipped it into the container with the other stuff: a crude map of the barracks; a list of all the SPARTANs' names, hers at the top; and finally, a message detailing the criminals Catherine Halsey and James Ackerson.

_There are people who love me,_ she thought determinedly as she buried her message in a proverbial bottle, a feat straight out of one of her brother's stories. _I will not be forgotten._

The night was over. It was too late for her to sneak back unnoticed, for the SPARTANs woke at dawn. She would have to make it appear as though she were just breaking the rules to take a midnight hike. The punishment would be severe, but she knew this was a risk she had to take. For all their sakes.

She jogged back toward the barracks at a diagonal angle to cover up where she had been. The note would not be found anytime soon, perhaps never, and all she could anticipate for now was the gruesome punishment that awaited her return.

However, she began to smile. It was dawn now, and this was an hour of hope.

_I will not be forgotten._


	3. Thin Kinkle, Love

It was about love. It always had been.

He remembered when she made herself known to him. She was so casually dressed for the dangerous environment of Sharfie's, like a babysitter as he had joked. Her beauty was a blazing thing that lit up the room. She was like a goddess from some ancient religion.

A goddess of war too. She came right on to his turf and demanded that he release the swine that missed a payment. She flirted with him even as she flashed her M6C to the room.

Not wanting to turn his favorite moons parlor into a battle zone, he cleverly suggested they play a game to settle the dispute. Would she win, he'd show a bit of mercy for a change. If _he_ won, he'd take the girl for a spin and see what she was like.

He'd played his best game, taunting her as he navigated the balls through their courses. This girl, however, she mastered the balls with an unearthly skill. And as she commanded the game with such grace, she gazed at him with a flirtatious grin, barely daring to send back taunts.

He had almost been glad to lose to her. He released the grub easily, and tried to take her under his wing. She was special, sure, but naïve. He could teach her so much, hone her into a tool of perfection. She declined, claiming the moral high-ground. He just shook his head and chuckled; he knew potential when he saw it. She would come back to his world one day, and he would be there, waiting.

However, when she did descend into his midst, not two weeks later, it was not as a friendly ally. The bitch totally screwed up his latest initiation test. Two of his best shooters were now in the hospital, along with the newbie, who now had only nine toes. The bitch mocked him, disrespected him, and needed some obedience training.

He ran his fingers through her hair, avoiding the device strapped to her head. She shot him a glare, and then immediately screamed in pain. He smiled and gave the wonderful device a little pat.

The Cupid's Knife, friend of Innies and crime lords alike, was a very special invention. It had the power to transform even the most hostile enemy into a treasured servant. If a subject placed in the Knife were to think any bad thought whatsoever about their captor, the Knife would place them in utter agony. It worked by interfacing directly with the brain's sense of pain; the Knife didn't just create a painful sensation, it created pain itself. No one could last forever under that kind of torment – though he was hoping for a show lasting a few hours – forcing them to submit to their feelings of love. It was the perfect present for his lovely new toy, endless love of him.

He cupped her chin and smiled down at her. She would be a perfect addition to his collection. He would be able to sculpt her, make her everything she should be. Life was nothing without love, and he would give her new life.

"Love me yet?"


End file.
